She used to be
by Starri Night
Summary: Post-Hogwarts. Hermione scrapes by as she prays for news from the war. She can only assume that everyone she knew is dead until one night a face from her past appears. Rating for a little language and sexual themes.


Hermione slipped the shiny black heals on her feet over the black fish-net tights, checking her make-up one last time in the mirror. Her red shirt, if you could call it a shirt, clung to her breasts and bared her flat stomach until the six-inch piece of black cloth that was her skirt covered just enough. _Please be a good night, _she prayed to whoever might listen as she took steps toward the stage.

The spotlight blinded Hermione, but she knew where the pole would be. She let the bass from the music thrum through her body as she went through the motions of her dance routine. The yells and whistles of the men at the club had become background noise to her long ago, back when she thought stripping would only be a temporary job.

Her roommate Lavender sauntered up on stage and began her own dance on the other side of the stage. The girls had been friends at school, before the world had chewed them up and spit them out. As they threw out their most provocative moves, Hermione remembered.

The war had torn them all apart. Harry was dead. So was Voldemort but that hadn't stopped Bellatrix from leading the Dark wizards to victory. Hermione and Lavender had run and integrated themselves into the muggle world without ever knowing if anyone else had survived. The only place that would give them jobs at the time had been a strip club in the slums of London

"It's the only place that has even looked at us twice, Mione," Lavender had said when Hermione protested. "You said we can't use magic, this is our only option!" Hermione had grudgingly agreed after another night without food. _  
_

That had been six months ago, they now lived in a cramped flat together a few blocks from the club. They had waited for someone to find them, give them news. Nobody came and life became centered on the tips they could make performing for the lonely British men to pay for rent and food.

Lavender stepped away and began to gravitate towards a group of young men who were whooping at the top of their lungs. Hermione made her way to the other side of the stage as more of her colleagues took the stage, some in more revealing outfits than herself. _Damn! _She thought; she had been hoping to keep the skimpy amount of clothes she was wearing on! She sighed as she began to slowly lift the edges of the shirt to reveal a lacy black bra. _  
_

She swung it above her head and threw it into the crowd of cheering, horny men. She licked her lips for show while she moved her hands up her body. As she accepted a 10 pound note from a sallow brunette near the stage, a shock of flaming red hair caught her eye. Hermione never looked at the men unless they were holding money but she slowly let her eyes drift down to the red-head's face.

Ron's eyes caught Hermione so off guard that she lost her balance as the man who just tipped her pulled on her arm. She fell into his arms and he bit into her shoulder as he laughed.

"Now, now darling, you're ruining the show," she told him slyly.

As Hermione began to pull away the man tightened his grip, "Don't pretend like you don't want it." He began to pull her closer until his breath was in her face.

"Come on, enough of that," she tried to laugh and push away again. That was a very bad mistake. The man shoved his mouth onto her own, biting her lips.

"Let go of me!" Hermione yelled as she tried to pull her arms out of his iron grip. He only squeezed harder, causing her to whimper. She tried to fight but the man just laughed, to him she was just a dumb whore.

He kept laughing as she struggled against him, trying to run backstage. He shoved her into a table, but fell back as Ron's fist connected with his head. Ron gripped Hermione's arm and gave her no chance of protesting as he dragged her out of the club.

They stopped in an alley between two buildings a block or so from the club. Ron threw his jacket around Hermione's shoulders as she began to shiver due to her lack of clothing in the cold December streets. Hermione could only stare at the man she had assumed dead for months as snow caught in his hair.

Ron's hand tentatively reached up to caress her cheek, "You used to be the sweetest girl."

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A/N: This was originally a song fic to 'Sweetest girl' by Wyclef Jean, but as I read the lyrics over I realized that they didn't really fit. I almost think this should continue but I don't know. Leave some reviews on what you think!


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